


Hot Water

by Lykegenia



Series: Rosslyn Cousland [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adorable Alistair, Alistair Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hair Washing, Intimacy, Multiple Orgasms, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexy Alistair (Dragon Age), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Young Love, hot spring sex, smut practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lykegenia/pseuds/Lykegenia
Summary: Remastered. Alistair has heard of a hot spring deep off the trail in the Frostbacks, and there's a certain Warden he's hoping to share it with...





	Hot Water

**Author's Note:**

> Some people might recognise the title of this. There was originally another version I took down (it was my first smut and I wasn't happy with how long it took the steamy bits. Or the steamy bits).
> 
> So now, revised and (hopefully) improved, my contribution to the Grey Wardens do it in hot springs trope.

“Sooooooooo?”

Rosslyn found it difficult to tear her gaze from the view spread out below her. Nestled under a ridge of trees just starting to take on their autumn colours, a white waterfall fanned over the lip of a siltstone cliff into an emerald pool cut out by the retreating channel of the river. Sheltered from the wind, the meadow on the foreshore bloomed with every shade of summer colour, while insect-hunting birds swooped among the grasses, flashing iridescent wings against the backdrop of the eastern peaks of the Frostbacks. Beautiful as it was, the best part was that the water _steamed_.

Grinning, she turned to Alistair, squeezing the fingers twined with hers.

“It’s wonderful,” she told him. The hopeful, puppyish look on his face split into an answering smile as he leaned close to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Worth the hike?” he asked.

She leaned into the touch, basking in the warmth of his eyes, the power he had to bring her happiness with the simplest of gestures. He had led her miles off the trail away from their companions, up perilous scree slopes and through thick underbrush, deflecting her increasingly bemused questions by asking her to trust him. And she did, and he had brought her to a mountain hot spring, blessed with shelter and sunlight and blissful, blissful privacy.

“We’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Her teasing struck a low rumble of laughter from his chest, and he nudged closer, aiming for a kiss. She could let him, but the wicked tilt of his smile told her he meant to make her melt, and as enjoyable as that would be, the sunshine and the lure of the hot water in the valley below were too much to resist. His lips had barely ghosted over hers when she danced back out of reach.

“Race you!”

He sprinted after her, shouting, but laden down with gear as he was she was already stripping off her boots by the time he stumbled to a halt. She caught his eye. He read the challenge and smirked at her, and it became a real race as they scrabbled at buttons and laces to have the victory of being the first one in the water. She thought she was winning, but then her breeches got stuck around her calves and she had to stumble for balance before she could kick them off, and by that time Alistair was down to only his shirt.

Still half-dressed, she dived for the water.

“Not fair!”

But she was already sinking into the pool, the clouded water so warm and the current just strong enough to tug the strain from her muscles. She pushed out from the side into the middle of the channel and turned, but when she wiped the water out of her eyes her lover was nowhere to be seen.

“Alistair?”

A wild shriek answered. She jerked to her feet, her senses instinctively questing out for darkspawn, but an instant later, Alistair appeared on the rocks above, stark naked and grinning like a maniac as he took a running leap into the pool. The splash sent so much water over her head she had to duck away to shield her eyes, and still the mineral taste of it got in her mouth when she laughed.

When she turned to scold him, her smile faded with the ripples. The green surface of the pool showed no sign of him, and when she looked to the sides, she could see no evidence that he had climbed out.

“Alistair?” she called again, uncertainly this time, wading to where he disappeared. The water was only about waist deep – what if his head struck a rock when he jumped? If only the water were clearer, she could –

Hands grabbed her waist from behind. She gave an undignified squawk and tried to jump away, but the arms held on tighter and her back collided with a plane of hard muscle.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Alistair’s voice breathed in her ear. His stubble rasped along the sensitive edge of her jaw as she spun to face him.

“Maker’s breath, love, don’t _scare_ me like that!” She tried to splash him in retaliation for her worry, but he caught her fingers and brushed them against his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and drew her arm around behind his neck to pull her closer, the wicked grin back in place. “Couldn’t resist.”

She pressed into the embrace, enjoying the flutter in her stomach when his hands splayed against her back and his honey-brown eyes raked down her body. “I’m sure I can learn to forgive you,” she said, tilting her head so her lips just grazed his.

“Glad to hear it.”

Alistair rocked forwards, turning her teasing into a proper kiss. His mouth slanted across hers, featherlight, languid as his hands trailed lazy patterns up and down the length of her spine. When his fingertips brushed the hem of the shirt she still wore, he changed direction, smoothing over the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to send tingles of heat darting over the skin beneath.

“I want you to know that shirt is very see-through when it gets wet.” His kisses tracked along her jawline, just a slight nip of teeth that made her hiss. “It’s very distracting.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, the better to focus on her words. How was it so easy for him to leave her breathless?

“If it’s so distracting, maybe – maybe I should take it off.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, already sliding his hands over her waist. His blunt nails scraped the bare skin of her hip as he curled his fingers under the hem and began to slowly, slowly lift it upwards.

Despite the heat of the water, she shivered. Breath hitched, mouth dry. His knuckles dragged along her back, drawing her shirt with deliberate leisure over the sensitive skin of her ribs. Desire coiled tighter in her belly as she arched against the heavy rasp of fabric with a sigh, her skin alight, her body aching to be touched.

“I love it when you’re like this.” His eyes were gold-rimmed pools of ink.

“I want –”

He caught her in a deeper kiss, winding his tongue with hers as he pulled her shirt ever higher. Rosslyn’s hands carded into his hair, holding him to her, determined to break the careful line of his control with kisses. He was already hard, his erection heavy and hotter than the water where it rested against her navel. When she rolled her hips, he twitched, the movement pulling a husky moan from between his lips.

And then her shirt was thrown to the edge of the pond and she was flush against him and his hands were free and roving down, _needing_ , like the torturous slow lick of fire along a match. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair.

“One more layer,” he hummed, kneading her breasts through the material of her band. “And then you’re all mine.”

She licked at his neck, found the taste of salt on her tongue. Her nipples were already hard under his fingers, straining for closer attention, for his mouth. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He grinned at that, his tongue a sweeping distraction across her collarbone as he squeezed one last time and fell to work on the knot that rested against her sternum and kept the whole garment together. With his head bent, her hands had better reach across the broad expanse of his back, muscles powerful enough to fell an ogre but so gentle when he held her, skin golden and dusted with freckles she loved to trace with her fingers.

His body went still.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern pulling her from her distraction.

“The knot’s wet.” He leaned back, frowning down at the offending band. “I can’t get it loose.”

“Maybe I can…” she tried, but he impatiently brushed her hands away and ducked his head down instead.

“It’s not exactly how I imagined burying my face in your chest today, love,” he said conversationally, his grip on her waist holding her steady while he went to work with his teeth. “Stop squirming.”

“Stop making me laugh, then!”

“Ticklish, are we?” He peeked between her breasts, his mouth still on the knot.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, and slapped at his hand before it could sneak to the sensitive spot just below her ribcage.

That grin again. The band went slack, and then Alistair was kissing his way up her chest, her neck, nipping along the edge of her jaw. A hand pushed aside the straps, gliding over her flesh with practiced ease. She mewled and bucked against him when the pad of his thumb flicked against her nipple, bare skin to skin, heat building in the hot water, but the sound of it was swallowed by his tongue in her mouth. His muscles twitched under her nails as she scraped them down his chest, around the solid curve of his waist to pull him closer.

Her breath hitched in surprise when her back bumped against the solid edge of the pond – _When had they started walking?_ – and she felt him lean away, just enough to miss his weight against her. “Alistair?”

“I almost forgot…” Her pressed a quick kiss to her nose. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you?” she asked, with a meaningful shift of her hips. The groan pulled from him made her thighs clench.

“Maker take you, woman,” he growled. “I am _trying_ to be romantic. Now wait here – and close your eyes.”

“What? But –” The words were stolen in another dart of his lips, and then he was sidestepping, hauling himself out of the water and out of her reach. “Alistair…”

“No peeking!”

“I’m not!”

With nothing to do but sit and listen to her lover rummage through their things, Rosslyn let herself sink to her neck in the hot water. This part of the pool was sheltered from the current, but if she stretched out her legs, she could still feel it trying to tug her away from the side, stroking hypnotic rhythms along her skin. Above the crash of the waterfall, the air was alive with birdsong, with no trace of darkspawn, bandit, or Blight anywhere to be found.

“I could stay here forever,” she murmured to herself.

And then a rough oilskin bag was thrust enthusiastically into her hands. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Surprise,” Alistair said. He splashed back into the pool and settled next to her as she turned the package over in her hands, the lust of a few moments before set aside for simple affection and contentment in each other’s presence. The bag she recognised as the one he had kept playfully out of her reach since leaving the camp that morning.

“So I’m allowed to see what’s inside now?” she asked.

An arm looped around her waist, his nose nuzzled against her temple. “Open it.”

Inside, she found a sponge, and scented beeswax soap, and hair lotion in a dark glass bottle with a label that said the contents smelled like white jasmine.

“Leliana helped me choose,” Alistair explained, ducking his head into her shoulder. Even now, he never stopped touching her; like his heart needed to beat, his hands never stopped tracing over her skin. “It’s not much but I hope it’s alright.”

Rosslyn reached to the bottom of the bag and gasped. There, hidden under every other wonderful gift, was a comb made of iridescent abalone like the one that had been hers in Highever, in a previous life.

“Alistair, it’s – all this – nobody’s ever done anything like this for me before.” She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat, reaching out to cup his face. “Thank you.”

Never taking his eyes off hers, Alistair leaned into her palm until his forehead pressed against hers, nudging his lips against her cheek. “I love you.”

She couldn’t help it, she giggled. Every time he voiced those words they left her giddy, left her wondering how in the midst of so much violence and death she had been so lucky to find him. There was a time not so long ago when she never thought to find pleasure in such closeness, to want this intimacy as badly as breathing.

Her hand wandered down his chest, over the expanse of scars and muscle she had claimed dozens of times over, and felt his pulse jumping beneath her fingertips as she bent her head to return the sentiment in a deep, languorous kiss. He moved to cover her again, palming at her breasts, sparking heat with the pressure of his fingers and the raggedness of his breath as she pulled him closer, until one calloused finger circled low enough to fog her mind and bring a tiny, desperate whine to the tip of her tongue. _Harder_.   

Before her last scrap of sense could vanish, she reached down and dragged his hand away, all too aware that she was making him wait. He was always so patient – reverent, almost – and she _wanted_ …

“Rosslyn?”

“Could we…” Her eyes flicked to the oilskin. “That soap smells really nice. Could we try it?”

Alistair laughed, relieved he hadn’t overstepped, and kissed her forehead. “Of course, love.”

“We can wait – I wouldn’t want you to be – uh – uncomfortable.”

He laughed again. “Don’t worry, we have all day for this. Besides,” he added in a lower, honeyed tone, “I bought that soap to be used - not that you don’t smell lovely anyway, of course.”

Answering his smile with a reassuring squeeze of her hand, Rosslyn pulled him to his feet and urged him to follow her towards the cascade, water streaming from her shoulders and down the smooth curve of her back. She felt his eyes follow the droplets along her skin and shivered.

“You are exquisite.”

“Flatter me when I don’t smell like shriek guts and I can actually believe you,” she chided, slipping through his fingers so she could wade through the churn of white water to a moss-covered boulder that jutted out of the bank. The oilskin with its precious contents jumped a little in her hands when strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind.

“I mean it,” Alistair said, nipping at her neck.

“And I suppose that’s in no way a subtle attempt at telling me you want to watch?” she asked slyly.

“Tempting,” he murmured, curling his fingers around the wet ends of her hair. “But actually, I was wondering if you wanted _help_.”

“With what? My hair?” The question came out sharper than Rosslyn intended, and when Alistair pulled away, she missed his warmth.

“Is that weird? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“No!” She caught his arm. “No,” she repeated, more calmly. “It’s just… unexpected. The only ones who ever touched my hair _before_ were… well, they were servants.” It was labour, like dressing her and stoking the fire in her room and changing her bedding; it meant nothing. “It never occurred to me to think someone might… want to.”

Emboldened, Alistair stepped closer again, laying his fingers over hers. “ _I_ want to.”

“Well then…”

“You’ll have to tell me if I pull too hard.”

“This not a subject covered in Templar training?” She smirked as he plucked the oilskin from her fingers.

“Strangely enough, no. Now, I’m assuming we start with the comb?”

It took a long time to tease the knots out of her hair. Straightened by the weight of the water, it fell almost to her waist, and was so thick it needed to be sectioned before it could be brushed smooth. Every now and then, the teeth of the comb or Alistair’s broad fingers would rasp against her skin, sparking flecks of heat that made her heart skip. With nothing else to do, she closed her eyes and found herself falling into the rhythm of his strokes, his tenderness, the sweetness of jasmine and the silence made of rushing water and birdsong.

And then he stepped away, the loss of his presence tearing like the sensitive edge of a wound. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Alistair? What are you – _mmhn_ …” She shivered against the sudden return of his touch at the back of her neck, the flare of lust in her belly.

“Hush, love,” he said, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. “I’m not finished yet.”

She swayed into the brush of his fingers, unable to stifle a whimper when his lips peppered a trail of kisses along the bared edge of her neck. There was no mistaking the hard prod at the base of her spine now; her toes curled against the bedrock.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused, allowing her eyes to drift shut once more. When he brought the lathered sponge to the centre of her back she jerked upwards, grasping backwards for his shoulder, his arm, his hair, anything to keep herself grounded against the way it scraped along her skin. It rose a groan from him, too, a rough roll of his hips and teeth grazing the base of her neck.

His grip tightened, splayed over her navel. “Are _you_?”

“Alist– _ahh_!”

The sponge chased the curve of her breasts. Her fingers tensed. His free hand sank beneath the water, teasing over her clit with enough pressure to make her hiss.

“Does this feel good?”

Swipe of the sponge; breath at her ear; the firm stroke of his fingers driving her against the rut of his cock. Without breath for words she could only nod, and curse when she felt his grin against her shoulder. His voice, when it came again, was little more than a growl.

“You smell like summer, love, and Maker, you _feel_ …” He pressed down, her thighs parted for him, and first one, then two fingers worked themselves into her heat.

“ _Mmmh_ – Alistair –”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m – I’m nearly…” Her legs shook, fire licked along her limbs, coiling tighter in her belly with every thrust of his hand. And then he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and she clenched around his curling fingers with a whimper as shudders wracked her body and the sensation became too much to bear. She needed to touch him, to taste him or she would go mad.

His fingers slipped out when she turned in his arms, and she huffed at the loss, desire pulsing beneath her skin when the seam of her cunt pressed against the length of his cock instead. In the instant he was distracted she snatched the sponge and dragged it across his collarbone.

“It’s my turn,” she managed to pant.

The fingers dug into her hips would raise bruises later.

He watched the path her hands raked down his chest, which in turn followed the line of her own eyes as she drank in the sight of him, the loveliness of stippled sunlight on golden skin. It was a luxury denied them in camp, when they were forced to hide their lovemaking behind the thin wall of their tent, in darkness, to bite back their sounds as if their passion were a shameful thing. To be able to _look_ , to see how his pupils dilated and his face flushed with every stuttered grind of his hips… 

“ _Rosslyn_ …” 

She teetered. “Yes, love?”

“Enough.” The words came in a growl as he crushed his mouth to hers, slick warmth and the rasp of his teeth. “We’re clean.”

At some point the sponge was plucked from her fingers, but she felt too good to care where it ended up. He was earnest now, clinging to her with hands that seemed everywhere at once. The taste of him, edged with honey from the soap, left her only enough presence of mind to shake her head.

“Rinse first,” she told him.

Another growl. It thrummed right through her. A sloppy line of kisses down her neck and her legs shook.

Then the water was pouring down over her head, drowning out everything but the heat of his tongue and the slick glide of his palms and the weight of his cock on her belly. Her hand slid between them, rubbed over the sensitive head, down the landscape of ridges and veins all the way to the root. She imagined what came next as she drew his bottom lip between her teeth, him inside her, hard, strong, _moaning_ as he took his pleasure.

“Are we clean?” he hissed against her mouth.

She was already pulling him away from the cascade, towards the edge of the pool, working with hands and tongue and teeth. “Yes.” She gasped. “Please – I want you…”

“You are –”

Her hip bumped rock.

Words forgotten, Alistair swept his arms under her thighs, lifted her weightless out of the water, and with one long thrust buried himself with a groan. For a long moment they stilled, panting, her head dipped against the crook of his neck. She gripped his arms, already trembling and _so close again_ , while his palms ran from knee to hip and back again, settling her legs higher around his waist.

“Rosslyn.” The hushed entreaty of her name made her lean back just as warm, shaky fingers tangled in her hair. She could feel how he held himself back, his power a taut counterpoint to the gentleness of the touch and the dazed expression in his eyes, and for an instant the warmth blossoming in her chest was enough to eclipse the heat pooling between her legs. Curling a finger under his chin, she stretched up and slanted her lips against his.

And then he rocked forward, withdrawing before filling her inch by slow inch so her breath came in a long hum against his mouth. His hands steadied the twitch of her hips as he built into a rhythm he knew would keep her just on the edge, just so far from tumbling. Her breath hitched on his name, gasping. She tried to grind against him, to _make_ him take her, her hands gliding over the lines of his body until she was coiled too tight and too hot to make any sound at all and had only the strength to brace against the rock.

She dimly felt her leg slipping and shifted it higher, locking her ankles around Alistair’s waist to bring him closer. Her head fell back at the new angle, damp hair brushing against her arm, and with a heady groan her lover’s hand snaked up to cup her breasts, rolling and pinching the nipples between his fingers. Goading. His mouth was on her an instant later, tongue pressed against one pebbled nipple, and then he was sucking, humming against the soft flesh, and her body convulsed with a soundless cry and bitten-off gasps to keep going, harder, _harder, Maker, yes_. His breath stuttered as she sought out his mouth once more, all sense of self-control lost as he fucked her through her orgasm, every stroke urging her higher, winding her tighter.

“Oh, love…” His teeth at her neck. Slap of wet skin on skin.

The thread snapped. Her veins flooded with molten gold, blindingly bright. He thrust into her one last time, arched bow-taut and cursing as he came, suspended for an eternity before together they sank boneless onto the moss.

Sunlight fluttered against Rosslyn’s closed eyelids, the warmth calming the rapid thrum of her heart as the last ebbing shocks of pleasure twitched through her legs and left her too content to move. The world drifted back into focus, first with the chitter of birds, and then the endless, crackling roar of the waterfall, but best of all was the weight of Alistair settled between her thighs slick with lovemaking, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the hum he breathed into her skin as she stroked her fingers idly through his hair. A knuckle brushed under her jaw, tempting her to finally open her eyes.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself,” he smiled. His thumb feathered over her cheek. “Maker, that was… amazing. I didn’t know that could happen.”

“Neither did I,” she chuckled, lazily twining their hands together. “But I liked it.”

“Reeeeeally? I couldn’t tell.” He planted a brief kiss against her sternum and eased away, smirking like a cat when she whined in complaint.

“You are entirely too pleased with yourself,” she mumbled as he climbed fully out of the water and lay down beside her on the sun-warmed moss. She wasted no time snuggling into his embrace, smiling when his arm draped over her hip.

“Maybe a little,” he murmured back. “We’ll probably need another bath, though.”

_Later_ , she wanted to say, but her eyelids were drooping, and the moss felt like eiderdown, and in the safe circle of Alistair’s arms she felt herself being pulled down into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos make my day :)


End file.
